My first week was done and dusted. In my humble opinion, I think I fucking KILLED IT.
I had spent the week watching (not literally, you sick fucks) and learning all about this kick ass job I just scored myself.
But what I had seemed to have forgotten was my “outside” life. I had a boyfriend, let’s call the dickhead Alex*. Alex and I were in a tough place to begin with, it didn’t help that I got a job and “forgot” to mention to him what it actually was. Or that I even had a job at all...
He asked me one day where I had been. I told him I was busy with uni and “can’t chat, bye babes”. I ended all our conversations abruptly. Quite frankly, I was done with him. I was mostly in love with my new job and his existence seemed to pale into insignificance.
I started work one Friday night at 7pm. I was on until close (5-6am). With a “normal job”, this would be considered a ‘grave yard shift’ but that isn’t the case with brothels. In fact, it’s the opposite. My new home was pumping. I put it down to the fact that I was in charge and I am so good, I could sell ice to eskimos.
Around 2am, it slowed down a bit and I had a moment to plunk my ass down and check out my Facebook. I had received a message from a girl, Jessica*, who claimed her sister (Sarah *eyeroll*) was sleeping with Alex.
A part of me was like “HIP HIP HOORAY!” and another part of me wanted blood. I needed advice.... and what better place to get that than a brothel FULL of hookers? Amirite?
“Ah fuck him, torch his fucking car!” One shouted from across the change room. “That’s what I fucking did. Showed him, ay?”
I laughed. I also considered it for a few brief seconds.
“No... I need something else” I said, now talking to about 8 different girls.
The ideas and suggestions were.... well..... different. I’m not entirely sure I expected an appropriate answer from any of them.
Ivy, who ended up being one of my closest friends, suggested I “get back at him”. “I dunno, fuck his dad... or his brother. Or both.”
As the hours went on, I found myself getting angrier and angrier. They say there’s two kinds of people. Those who “flight” and those who “fight”, it’s safe to say I was a fighter. It would almost be abnormal to get no reaction from me in this type of situation and I’m surprised Alex didn’t know that. Or maybe he did.
So Mrs. Gutter mouth over here got to work: I sent probably the most abusive message to this girl that I think, even to this day, was the worst I’ve ever written. I was almost out of control. It was sent. Done.
So as the sun rose and it was time for me to leave work, I felt a sense of regret. Why would I push this girl away? If she wants Alex, quite frankly she can have him. I over reacted but hey, it felt good at the time.
I stopped into the shops on my way home and just so happened to run into this girl’s father. Peter*. As soon as he saw me, he stormed over to me, as a papa bear would protecting his young, and he cut sick at me. I understood because the tirade of abuse I sent this guys daughter was absolutely ruthless. I let him have his say and even though I was so fucking tired, I was able to snap back into work mode and sweet talk him. That’s the funny thing when dealing with men all day, you learn about them and you learn how to talk to them so well that they’ll like anything you say.
My conversation ended with Peter apologizing for his daughter’s actions. I gave him my number and explained that next time, maybe he can shoot me a phone call or txt if shit goes pear shaped. He agreed and we went in opposite directions. I trotted off to bed, I was fucked.
48 hours later..
I was sitting on the couch at home when I received a txt message.
“Hey it’s Peter, what are you up to? X”
To be continued....